


The Magicians' Waltz

by Nasturtian



Series: John and John's Excellent Adventures [9]
Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: (only briefly though), Dancing, F/M, Humor, JS&MN Big Bang 2016, M/M, Miscommunication, Weddings, regency dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-03 02:36:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8693059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nasturtian/pseuds/Nasturtian
Summary: Jane Honeyfoot and Tom Levy are getting married. General discombobulation ensues - especially as Levy, who obviously wants dancing at his wedding breakfast, teaches willing students and staff how to perform the part of ladies in popular dances (actual ladies being in short supply at the school).  Childermass proposes that he and Segundus should take dance lessons; soon another proposal follows, with some unexpected results.





	1. A Surplus of Gentlemen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane Honeyfoot makes up her mind, and Childermass wants to learn to dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [JS&MN Big Bang 2016!](http://jsamnbigbang.tumblr.com) I will publish a chapter every other day so this won't take long.
> 
> I should also say that this is part of my usual Johnsquared universe, which I can't seem to leave (not that I want to). It takes place in the same year as "In Concert," after the Johns have been together for about three years.

_August 1820_

John Segundus, headmaster of the Starecross School for Magicians, had known Jane Honeyfoot for fourteen years. She had been hardly more than a child when he was first drawn into their family circle (although she had done her part in entertaining their guest by singing in Italian after dinner). The years went by, as they do, and suddenly Miss Jane was a young woman - a young woman who decided that she cared for magic more than any other thing. As her father, Mr Honeyfoot, was the deputy headmaster at Starecross, it was to Starecross that she came for her magical education.

Despite the presence of the excellent Mrs Honeyfoot as Jane's chaperone, Segundus had, at first, not been convinced that Miss Honeyfoot's presence was desirable. He worried that having a young lady living in a building with a number of young men - some very handsome and well-to-do - would turn the students' attention away from their books.

This was not the case. Miss Honeyfoot treated her classmates and tutors with friendly respect but somehow - without ever saying a word on the subject - made it clear that the whole lot of them combined were less interesting to her than a single paragraph from the Book of the Raven King. The male students, for their part, were sufficiently cowed by having both Miss Jane's mother and father on the premises to keep any tender aspirations to themselves. Segundus kept a watchful eye on the situation, but he stopt worrying.

Therefore it was with considerable surprize that, not long after the beginning of Miss Honeyfoot's second year at Starecross, he learned that she was engaged to be married to one of the teachers - Mr Tom Levy.

"Are you sure?" Segundus asked Honeyfoot, who had come by his study to give him the news. "I beg your pardon - I do not mean to be rude - it is simply so - er - "

"Unexpected?" said Honeyfoot, rocking forward and backward on his feet and beaming. "It is, Mr Segundus, it surely is! But no less welcome for that. Our Jane! I never thought I should live to see the day - or the man!" He chuckled. "Levy asked my permission a fortnight ago, and I gave him leave to try - but I did not hold out much hope. I had never seen her shew any particular interest in him. From what I understand he didn't work up the nerve to ask her until he was halfway through listening to her essay on the magical properties of toads."

"She accepted him right away?"

"Not immediately. She took a few days to think it over. Today she decided she would marry him, and told me so."

"That explains Levy's recent lack of concentration. He nearly caused a serious accident when doing Daedalus's Rose with the Metaphysics class." Segundus shook his head to clear it of these academic concerns and smiled at Honeyfoot. "I am happy for them both - and for you! Tom Levy is a good man."

"Yes, we have been fortunate in our daughters' choices of husbands - not a blackguard nor a bore among 'em!" Honeyfoot's laughter bounced off the walls of the study. The raven dozing on its perch by the desk ruffled its feathers and stared at him balefully.

"When is the wedding to be, and where?" inquired Segundus.

"Oh, here in the village, in a month's time - that will give ample opportunity to put up the banns and for Jane to have a new dress made. Mrs Honeyfoot insists on that."

"Ah," said Segundus, unable to think of a better response.

"The whole school will be invited!" Honeyfoot went on. (This was not as formidable a prospect as one might think - the students and staff together totaled only sixteen.) "If that is agreeable to you, of course, my dear sir."

"By all means."

"Very good! I must be off now - I'm meant to be tutoring young Perkins in the Geography of Other Lands." Honeyfoot bowed himself out and shut the door behind him, still beaming.

Segundus ran a finger down the raven's breast, smoothing the glossy feathers. "Go back to sleep, Merlin. The loud man is gone." Then, in the same soothing tone, he added: "Why don't you come out of the corner now, John?"

"Just waiting to be sure that Honeyfoot isn't going to pop back in," said a shadow by the bookcase. A moment later it pulled away from the angle of the wall and became a long-haired, craggy-faced man in dusty black clothes. "Jane Honeyfoot and Tom Levy, eh? I wouldn't have guessed that he would have been the one to storm her keep...although I should be the last person to underestimate the attraction of slight, dark-haired scholars."

"You cannot make me blush. I am inured to your improprieties."

John Childermass grinned - a sarcastic, one-sided grin that made his face look, if any thing, more menacing than before. "I doubt that very much indeed. For instance, if I were to point out that you have your cravat tied more snugly than usual today - "

Segundus felt his face heat as he involuntarily put a hand to the side of his neck, where the crisp white linen concealed a fine, big, purple-red love-bite, a souvenir of an encounter with the shadowy Mr Childermass the night before. "Oh - well - maybe not _entirely_ inured."

"Quite right, too."

*

Honeyfoot announced his daughter's upcoming wedding at dinner that evening. He then made way for Tom Levy, who stood up amid great cheering and applause from his audience and said: "Thank you all for your kind support. As Mr Honeyfoot has just said, it would give me - us - " (he and Jane smiled at each other) " - great pleasure to see you all at the ceremony and at the breakfast afterwards."

"That depends," piped up Hadley-Bright, irrepressible as always. "Will there be dancing?"

There was a short silence. It was nonetheless long enough for Hadley-Bright to realize that he was unintentionally guilty of making an impertinent remark, and to look rather abashed. Levy had been a dancing-master before becoming a magician. Although he was not ashamed of what was, after all, a perfectly legitimate way of making a living, the prevailing feeling at Starecross was that mentioning his former career was in bad taste. Happily, Levy was not the sort to take offense.

"Hmmm...I do not know," he said, with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "Do you really think that a wedding-breakfast is the place for such frivolity?" Then he bowed to Mrs Honeyfoot, at the same time extending a hand to her. His mother-in-law-to-be giggled, allowed herself to be drawn out of her seat, and curtsied neatly. The two of them then danced their way clean out of the room, to general laughter. Jane and her father looked at each other, got up, joined hands, and danced out to join the others in the hallway, where they could soon be heard performing an impromptu quadrille.

"I think that counts as a 'yes,' Mr Hadley-Bright," said Segundus.

*

The next day, Mrs Honeyfoot and Jane set off to York for the purpose of taking Jane to the dressmaker. They also planned to call on Jane's sisters and Miss Redruth to acquaint them with the happy news. Miss Redruth, who had left Starecross that spring after learning all she wished to know, now had a small but thriving business with her own sisters, tutoring ladies of all ages in the magical arts. She had been Jane's particular friend while still at school, and Jane expressed hopes of persuading her to come back to Starecross to attend her at the ceremony.

Back at Starecross, Mrs Pleasance (the housekeeper) and the cook planned for the wedding breakfast. The cake was the cause of some conflict between them. People avoided the kitchen for fear of being forced to take sides about marzipan, mace, candied lemons and the like, over which the two women debated with as much passion and exactitude as magicians concocting a potion.

Honeyfoot spent all the time he could spare - and some that he could not - on the composition of a long and emotional speech for the wedding-breakfast, which he rewrote entirely at least once a day.

Tom Levy's preparations took the form of dance lessons in the drawing room, given during the hour-long break after luncheon. Segundus, telling himself that it was his duty as headmaster to see exactly what was going on, sidled into the room and stood at the back of the little group of students and staff who were listening to Levy's introductory remarks.

"...not because I think you do not know how to dance - I am sure that you are more than capable," he was saying.

"D--- right," said a student.

Levy acknowledged him with smile and continued: "My reason for offering lessons is this: even if Miss Honeyfoot's elder sisters and their families are able to come, the gentlemen will outnumber the fair sex by a large margin. I am sure you are familiar with the custom that allows ladies to form couples during a dance where there is a dearth of gentlemen. The same convention applies when the opposite problem occurs - for instance, at a ball in or near a military camp, or - "

" - or at a school for magicians," said Henry Purfois.

"Precisely! The problem of an insufficient number of ladies can be solved by having some of the gentlemen form couples for the duration of the event. Do not be alarmed," Levy said, holding up his hands to forestall some muttering from his listeners. "The steps are the same, but as any one standing in for a lady will be on the side opposite what is usual for him, I thought I would offer the chance for some practice before the day itself. My chief desire is for every one to have a good time, and as dancing is most enjoyable when one is not thinking about where to put one's feet..."

Segundus slipped away as quietly as he had come. _It seems harmless enough,_ he thought. _As long as it does not detract from their study time._

He forgot about the matter for some days, caught up in the ebb and flow of school life during the day and even more caught up in the delicate but thrilling business of spending time alone with Childermass at night. Then, one Thursday, his post-luncheon route took him past the drawing room. Hearing music and voices, he was unable to resist the temptation to step inside and see what was going on.

Henry the gardener sat in one corner, sawing away at his fiddle while some of the students, Honeyfoot (finally parted from his speech), Purfois, and Hadley-Bright laughed and trod on each other's shoes. Segundus noticed that some of the dancers wore a handkerchief tied around the upper part of one arm. "What do the handkerchiefs signify?" he asked Levy.

"Oh - that is to help every one remember who is dancing the ladies' side," said Levy, as his pupils attempted a rather giggly cotillion. "For all the good that it is doing...all right, gentlemen, that will do for today! Thank you, Harry, same time tomorrow, if you please." The gardener stopt playing mid-note, and the cotillion dissolved in amiable confusion.

"Don't you mean 'ladies and gentlemen'?" quipped Purfois, flourishing his handkerchief-encircled arm.

"You're all doing marvelously, no matter how silly it might feel at the moment!" Levy went on. "You will be in fine form in another week, I am sure."

"Off to your classes, now!" said Segundus, as the dancers dispersed. "I must say, Mr Levy, I had my doubts about this plan of yours, but I don't know when I've last seen every one's spirits so high."

"Thank you, sir. I had doubts myself - but to celebrate our wedding with only two or three couples, and every one else standing about - I couldn't abide the thought!" Levy smiled, suddenly mischievous. "I have not seen _you_ joining in these little sessions, sir."

"Good heavens!" said Segundus. "Dancing is a young person's pastime, sir - you would not wish me to be out there, cluttering up the sets. And I have always been an indifferent dancer, truth be told."

"All the more reason to attend!" said Levy, undeterred.

"Yes, by all means," said a familiar, Yorkshire-flavored voice behind Segundus's left shoulder. Segundus turned sharply and saw Childermass standing there, grinning. "You should take Mr Levy up on his offer, sir!"

"And what of yourself, Mr Childermass?" said Segundus. "I did not see you joining in either."

Childermass was not dismayed by this retort. "I have been busy completing the final draft of King's-Letters-to-English lexicon, as you know, sir. But I hope to attend tomorrow - that is, if you will promise to accompany me, and save me the embarrassment of being the odd number in the party."

"You should indeed, Mr Segundus!" urged Honeyfoot, who, upon hearing their conversation on his way out of the room, paused to offer his opinion. "Mr Levy has such a way of explaining things - I feel better prepared for a dance then I have ever done before. My wife will be delighted at my prowess!" He bowed and trotted away, humming the tune that Harry had played last.

"So much for it being a young person's pastime," said Childermass. "That fellow has more energy than the rest of the group put together."

"He will be a most excellent father-in-law, I think," said Levy. "Now I must be off. I will see you gentlemen at dinner - and, I trust, at tomorrow's lesson?"

"Assuredly," said Childermass, before Segundus could say any thing to the contrary. Levy nodded, satisfied, and went on his way.

"I have a lecture," said Segundus, glancing at the mantel clock.

"Mm, yes - on 'The Language of Birds,' correct? Are you still meeting in the garden?"

"No, there has been something in the air lately that makes Hudson sneeze with regrettable regularity. We meet in the Red Room now."

"I will walk with you, if I may."

As they went, Segundus tried to think of the best way to articulate what he had been wondering ever since Childermass had shewn such determination to be at Levy's lessons. Finally he said: "I did not know you were so fond of dancing."

"Can't say that I am, really."

"Why so insistent that we avail ourselves of Mr Levy's assistance, then?"

"Well..." Childermass looked around carefully to make sure that no one was nearby ( _Oh my - he is going to Say Things,_ thought Segundus, his heart beating fast). The coast being clear, he said: "I once had a dream about dancing with you, John. It was was long ago - before I left Norrell's service - but the image has stayed with me ever since. I never thought I might actually have the chance to stand up with you and dance before God and everybody, but now that chance has come, and I'll be d----d if I let it slip by me."

Segundus swallowed, his throat dry. "You - dreamed of dancing with me?"

"There are very few things I have not dreamed of doing with you," said Childermass. They had reached the door to the Red Room.

"Stop that at once. I must go in there and teach with a clear head, which I cannot do if you fill it with such thoughts," said Segundus. "Just one more question: do you intend to take the role of a gentleman or of a lady?"

"Oh, a lady. I do not know any of the steps to begin with, so I will not have any thing to unlearn."

"I do not think there will be any dances that are out of the ordinary."

"You misunderstand. They are all new to me."

"You do not know how to dance?" said Segundus, astonished.

"Not in this style. My life has been devoid of ballrooms up to this point. If you want to see a sailor's hornpipe then I am your man...go on, I'm sure your pupils are wondering where you are." He winked and walked off.

Segundus stared after him, torn between amusement ( _was he making a crude joke or can he really do a hornpipe?_ ), wonder ( _he's learning this for my sake!_ ) and an obscure sadness as he contemplated a life devoid of ballrooms, even of the humblest sort. Then he remembered that he was standing alone in the hallway while his students waited for him on the other side of the door. He straightened his coat and went in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew nothing about Regency dances before writing this, and after considerable research, I still feel like I know nothing about Regency dances...so please pardon the inevitable errors. (The thing about gentlemen being allowed to form couples is true, though: see [this website](http://www.regencydances.org/etiquette.php).)
> 
> MORE IMPORTANLY the fabulous AlexSimon's contribution to this story was a gift in the form of a scene that I didn't write: [The Joys and Trials of Settling Down.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8691715) It fits between chapters three and four of this story but can be read on its own as well because it is just THAT GOOD.


	2. Tewkesbury Mustard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Tom's wedding, the dance, and the importance of precise phrasing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some puking in this chapter. Not a lot. Just a heads-up in case that bothers you.

_September 1820_

The first week of September was as warm and humid as July. All the doors at the school swelled - some to the point of being unable to close all the way - and the linen on the beds and tables felt damp to the touch. But on the morning of the wedding it turned cool and dry as abruptly as if some celestial switch operator had noticed his mistake and thrown a lever from the position marked "summer" to the one marked "autumn."

Under a deep blue sky untroubled by any hint of haziness, the wedding party made its way towards the village church. Jane's nieces and nephews led the throng, singing and shouting. They were closely followed by Jane (attended by her sisters and Miss Redruth) and Levy (attended by Purfois and Hadley-Bright). Next came Mr and Mrs Honeyfoot, their sons-in-law, Segundus, and the students. Childermass brought up the rear. He would have preferred to walk with Segundus, but it was not wise to be seen seeking out each other's company too often. He was, however, close enough to overhear Segundus's conversation with Palmer, their youngest student, and eavesdropt without scruple. 

"...glad things have finally cleared," Palmer said. "This is the weather I like best! The air is like - like - " 

"Like the sound a wine glass makes when flicked with one's fingernail," supplied Segundus, and then looked embarrassed at his own verbosity. 

_I told you that you were a poet, John,_ thought Childermass, with an inward laugh. 

"How is your ankle, sir?" Palmer inquired, as the group rounded the last bend in the lane, the church waiting for them at the end of it.

"Quite well, thank you," said Segundus. "It was only a slight twist. I am grateful that Mr Levy began offering his lessons as early as he did. My poor limbs needed time to grow used to such exertions!"

"We've all been sore. If I had realized how much work dancing is, I wouldn't have started in the first place," admitted Palmer. He and Childermass had been the only two in the group with no prior experience, but, thanks to Levy, they had mastered the dozen or so figures that were commonly combined to form country dances. 

_D-----d if I'll admit it, but John was right - it's a young person's pastime,_ thought Childermass, aware of the ache which had yet to fade from his calves and thighs. _Ah well. I know the others suffered too - Mrs Pleasance said she's never known such a demand for hot water bottles...and it hasn't been all bad._ He smiled, thinking about how his purely disinterested desire to ease his own and Segundus's stiff muscles had prompted him to suggest they exchange massages. This not only succeeded in soothing their sore legs and backs but led to a truly delightful evening...

With some difficulty, he brought his thoughts back from the pleasant pastures of memory and into the present moment as they entered the church and arranged themselves in the pews.

The only other wedding Childermass had ever attended was that of Sir Walter and Lady Pole (he had gone with Mr Norrell, who had been a guest of honor and was much stared at by all). Although this ceremony was a drab thing compared to the splendor of a London society wedding, he could not help but feel that it came out ahead in the comparison. Here, at least, all the guests were there for the purpose of seeing Miss Honeyfoot and Tom Levy get married, and not for the purpose of being seen themselves. The bride and groom, radiating nervous happiness, stood before the vicar, listened to the homily, and repeated their vows. Childermass had never heard the ritual in its entirety before and was struck by the beauty of some of the phrasing. _With my body I thee worship..._

His gaze drawn by the irresistible association of ideas, he looked over at Segundus. The headmaster sat two pews ahead of him and a little to the left, so that Childermass could see his face without turning his head. Every one else was watching the little group at the front of the church with varying degrees of interest, but Segundus's eyes were fixed on them with an intensity that Childermass found alarming. _It's three years since we've become - what are we? Lovers? I hate that word - it smacks of brief trysts, always abandoned sooner or later. Partners? Better, even if it does make us sound like attorneys-at-law...whatever the word may be for what we are, I have never seen that look on his face except when he is looking at **me**. _

He followed the line of Segundus's gaze, trying to discern what made him stare with such longing. _Levy? Miss Honeyfoot? Old Father Mallowe, with more hair growing out of his ears than on his head?_

Before Childermass could form any conclusions, Segundus seemed to recollect himself. He blinked, sat up straighter, and watched the rest of the ceremony with his polite attentiveness. Childermass was left to wonder if he had imagined that strange, yearning expression, or if he was exaggerating it in his own thoughts.

Once the register had been signed, the freshly-minted Mr and Mrs Thomas Levy made their triumphal progress back to the school, shielding their faces from enthusiastically-thrown handfuls of celebratory rice and cheered on not only by their guests but by any citizens of the village who happened to be about.

The wedding-breakfast was a resounding success. The festivities began in the dining room, where the food was plentiful (the much-contested cake proved to taste every bit as magnificent as it looked) and the wine flowed freely. When every one had eaten and drunk as much as they could hold, they adjourned to the largest drawing-room. All the seats had been arranged against the walls and the other furniture removed to provide space for the dancers. Great earthenware pots filled with sunflowers stood in each corner of the room, the bold yellow petals seeming to cast their own light. _Symbolic of admiration, gratitude, pride, and appreciation,_ supplied Childermass's memory, repository of many such useless pieces of information.

Harry the gardener, accompanied by several other musically-inclined men from the village, sat ready to play for as long as it was required (fortified by discreet sips from jugs of Harry's famous pear cider). While Levy and Jane went to speak to them about the order of the songs, the gentlemen who had agreed to dance the part of ladies tied handkerchiefs around their upper arms and stood in an awkward group, waiting to be claimed. 

Childermass expected to be ignored until Segundus got up the courage to approach him. Due to the small number of available partners, however, he found his company to be somewhat in demand. He danced a reel opposite Hadley-Bright and was recovering his breath at the punch-bowl when he finally found the object of affection at his elbow.

"May I have the honor of the next dance?" said Segundus with a bow.

"Not a moment to soon, sir," said Childermass. "I thought you had forgotten about me."

"It is not my fault that you are so popular."

They took their places in the set and faced each other, waiting for the music to begin. Childermass felt a stab of anxiety that had nothing to do with remembering the steps and everything to do with the sensations that came over him as he looked at Segundus, neat and trim in his best clothes. _I love him. So much. Surely it is shining out of me like sunbeams - and if it is not now, it will be by the time we have finished this dance - people will see it - they will know - how can they not?_ He considered feigning a sudden leg cramp but by then it was too late - Harry and his band had struck up a tune. The movements that Childermass had so painstakingly spent the last fortnight teaching his muscles to perform took over, and he was dancing with John Segundus. 

As soon as his initial surge of nerves died down, he knew that he need not have worried. Every one in the room was having far too good a time to notice any untoward tension that might exist between the headmaster and the Reader of the King's Book. The guests took the unorthodox selection of partners as the joke that Levy had intended it to be, and thanks to his efforts in preparing the temporary 'ladies,' they all moved together with ease. Childermass's confidence in his ability to maintain his composure increased. He was able to enjoy the sensation of being part of something larger than himself as the dancers wove a pattern in time to the music. He decided to attempt a little conversation.

"How did you find the wedding, Mr Segundus?" he asked, as they joined hands, turned, parted, and joined again. 

"It was most interesting, sir. I have not been to one since I was a boy. The vows were quite moving."

"Moving - and yet inadequate."

"How so?"

" 'Till death us do part'? It lacks commitment."

This brought a smile to Segundus's face, which in turn brought a tingling weakness to Childermass's knees. _Oh G--. I had better be careful or I shall loose control of my legs entirely._

By keeping their conversation to mundane topics, Childermass and Segundus were able to complete not one but two dances without either fumbling the steps or revealing too much about the nature of their regard for one another. 

"I think that will be all for me," said Segundus at the end of the second dance, while they politely applauded for Harry and his fellow musicians. "I am quite worn out! Do you think any one will take it amiss if I retire?"

"Not at all," said Childermass. "I was thinking the same thing. Levy did mention that it is not polite to dance more than two numbers in a row with any given partner, and as I have no desire to dance with any one else..."

"I should think not," said Segundus, his face creasing in amusement once again. 

They retreated to the seating area and made polite small talk with the other non-dancing guests for the remainder of the event. This was not terribly long, as Levy and Jane were to leave for their honeymoon at noon. At about half-past eleven Levy stood up on a chair and made a brief speech, thanking every one for their kindness and good wishes. 

"And now," he concluded, "before Jane and I depart for Bath, there will be one more dance - married couples only, this time, so my most recent pupils will have to sit it out. Harry, gentlemen - a waltz, if you please!" 

Childermass leaned forward, interested to see the dance performed properly. There had been a minor disagreement between Levy and some of the more fashionably-inclined students, who had wanted Levy to teach them how to waltz, a dance that had only been admitted to respectable establishments within the past few years. Levy had objected, saying that the intimate nature of the dance made it unsuitable for two gentlemen to attempt, even in jest; they had responded that they did not mean to do it at the wedding-breakfast, but that they wanted to master it for use on other occasions. Levy had relented when Jane returned, and was able to stop by the the drawing-room and help her husband-to-be demonstrate the steps. 

Now the students and teachers withdrew good-naturedly as the newlyweds, Mr and Mrs Honeyfoot, and their two elder daughters with their spouses took their places. As Childermass watched the couples circle about the room - sometimes hip to hip, sometimes with their hands upon each other's shoulders, sometimes with their arms arching overhead, but always maintaining eye contact and always touching - he thought that it was a very good thing that Levy had restricted it to spouses. _A man's self-control can only take so much._

*

Starecross Hall was quiet that evening. Mr and Mrs Levy had been waved off; Jane's sisters and their families had gone home; every one else had gone to bed to recover from their merrymaking in time for the next day's studies. 

Childermass followed his own nightly routine, which went as follows. First: lock his room from the inside by magic while standing outside it. Second: take on the appearance of a shadow. Third: slip silently through the hallways until he came to Segundus's door, which was left unlocked for him. Fourth: un-shadow himself, lock the door behind him, and (after pushing his way through the thicket of roses that indicated that the muffling spell had been cast) join Segundus in bed. From this point the nightly routine varied - they might talk, or read, or attempt new spells, or engage in other types of magic-making. Childermass loved it all. 

On this night Segundus was sitting up in bed, reading a book that was propped up on his knees. Childermass lay beside him with his arms behind his head and his eyes closed, reliving his favorite parts of the past day (there were many). Presently Segundus leaned back against the headboard. "I had a marvelous time today, John, but my body is rebelling against me. I am going to be unbearably stiff in the morning."

Had they been in the company of others, Childermass would have let this statement pass, put since they had the freedom of the locked and silenced bedroom about them he indulged in a coarse snicker.

"Oh, stop it. You know what I meant," said Segundus. "So. We have danced together in front of God and everybody. Did it live up to your expectations?"

"Aye. A dream come true," said Childermass, without opening his eyes. He continued to drift in a sea of memories until Segundus put down his book and said:

"John, I should like to - to warn you. I want to get married someday."

Childermass's eyes snapt open. He stared at the rose-twined canopy overhead without seeing it, his stomach roiling. _So that is what he was thinking of, back there in the church. Are you really surprized? Of course he cannot be satisfied with you forever. Nor should he be. He deserves a real spouse, not someone he cannot even name - of course he wants a wife - a family -_ but here the reasonable voice in his head was drowned out by an all-engulfing misery so powerful that he almost howled like a dog. All the laughter, all the magic, all the poetry, all the sweet stolen kisses, all the endearments whispered in the dark - all turned to bitter poison as he realized that, to John Segundus, he had never been more than a placeholder until something permanent came along. He felt sick - no, he not only _felt_ sick, he was going to _be_ sick -

He flung himself over the edge of the bed, pulled out the chamber pot, and vomited violently into it. 

Segundus was beside him, pressing cool fingers on his forehead, holding his hair out of the way while he retched. After the spasm was over Childermass climbed back into bed, shuddering, and automatically took the glass of water that Segundus held out to him. 

Segundus sat beside him, white-faced, while he drank to rid himself of evil taste of bile. Then he said: "I am sorry. I had no idea my proposition would so affect you."

Childermass wanted to hurl the glass in his hand against the far wall, to see it shatter into a thousand shards, as irreparable as his heart. Instead he set it carefully on the bedside table. " _Affect me?_ " he said. "Why would it _affect_ me? Why would I be in any way affected when you - you whom I have loved so long, so long! - tell me that you plan to leave me someday, to marry some - _woman_?"

Segundus stared at him blankly. Then, incredibly, his face relaxed into a smile. "Oh, my dear - you must pardon me - I seem to be guilty of imprecision, and it is as disastrous in love as in magic."

"What are you babbling about?" snarled Childermass.

"I want to marry _you._ "

Childermass was struck dumb. His sorrow and rage drained away, leaving an echoing, empty space behind. 

Segundus was not smiling any more. "Wait a moment," he said. "You thought - you really believed - after all the things we have said and done - John Childermass! You are the stupidest man in this world or any other!" He swung a leg over Childermass's lap so that he straddled him and gripped the front of his shirt with both hands. "I cannot fathom how you could think that of me! How many times have I told you I loved you? To whom could you _possibly_ think I was referring when I said I wanted to get married?"

Childermass, unable to move, looked up into Segundus's furious face and said, weakly: "...Mrs Pleasance?"

For a moment he thought Segundus was going to strike him. But then - after staring at Childermass for ten shocked seconds - he sat back on his heels and began to laugh. He laughed helplessly, until his whole body shook with it, until it filled Childermass's emptiness and set him laughing too, until they were both red in the face and leaking tears.

When the fit passed, Segundus rolled off Childermass's lap and lay flat on his back, hiccoughing a bit and muttering "Mrs Pleasance" under his breath. Childermass wrapped his arms around Segundus and buried his face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the warm, living smell of him.

"I am so sorry, John," he said. "I swear to you that I have not been living in a state of suspense for the past three years - it was just - the wedding today, and the way you looked at them in the church - my fears ran away with me."

Segundus, squirming away from the scratch of Childermass's unshaven cheeks, said: "I will accept your apology - on one condition."

"...which is?" said Childermass, giving the base of Segundus's throat a farewell nip before relenting and pulling back.

"That we start this conversation over again."

"What do you mean?"

"Honestly, my dear, you are very slow tonight. What do you think I mean?" Segundus got off the bed and knelt like a man at his prayers (first putting the lid back on the sick-filled chamber pot and sliding it back under the bed). He took Childermass's hands in his own and said: "John Childermass, I love you, even if you can be as thick as Tewkesbury mustard. Will you marry me?"

Childermass could only squeeze Segundus's hands tightly and nod.

"That won't do," said Segundus. "I want to hear you say it."

"I - " Childermass's voice was hoarse and cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Yes, I will marry you, John Segundus. I will marry you every day for the rest of our lives and every day of what comes after."

"I believe once is traditional," said Segundus. "That's rather the whole point, isn't it?"

"Come back up here. You are too far away," said Childermass, tugging on Segundus's hands. Segundus chuckled and got back into bed, climbing right over Childermass and settling himself in his usual spot once more. 

"That's settled, then," he said. "Now all we have to do is find someone to officiate. Ha! What do you think Reverend Mallowe would say if we asked him? The poor fellow would probably die of apoplexy then and there. I suppose we shall have to be our own officiants and witnesses - as well as the only guests." He picked up his book, apparently perfectly prepared to carry on reading now that his proposal had been accepted.

Childermass was not ready to let the subject drop. "You are quite, quite sure, John? I mean - I do not want you to ever feel - well - trapt."

Down went the book, and up went the eyebrows. "You're not trying to get out of this already, are you?"

"No indeed. There was never any thing I wanted to get into more. But I hate to think that you might someday - regret, or resent - " Childermass could not seem to get his words to come out in the correct order, but Segundus understood his meaning clearly enough. 

"Listen, Tewkesbury - you spent ten years peering at me through silver basins. You tell me - am I the type to mourn the lost freedom of my dissolute youth? And in any case - freedom is no use to me if I am not free to do what I want most - to bind myself to you forever." 

" _John,_ " said Childermass, and his whole heart was in the word. 

Segundus did no more reading that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The history of the Regency waltz is fraught with scandal. Here's a brief recap of its origins: [Even Byron found it A Bit Much](http://regencydances.org/paper013.php). This [youtube clip](https://youtu.be/6r0dKkkk2jk) helps demonstrate what the big deal was about.
> 
> I think I was inadvertently quoting Roald Dahl when I had Childermass worrying that his feeeeeeelings were shining out of him like sunbeams - didn't Dahl say something like that about how if you have good thoughts etc they will shine out of you like sunbeams and you will always be beautiful? Anyway. Thanks, Roald, for that line, if it was you - I am only borrowing it.
> 
> Also, "his wit is as thick as Tewkesbury mustard" is a delightful insult from Shakespeare, of course ( _King Henry IV_ , if you want to get specific). Apparently there is such a thing as mustard made in Tewkesbury and it is, indeed, notable for its thickness. [The History of Tewkesbury mustard](http://www.tewkesburymustard.co.uk/history-of-tewkesbury-mustard/)


	3. Childermass's Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Childermass has places to go and people to see, and Segundus is left behind.

The next morning, Segundus woke up alone. It took him a moment to remember why this surprized him, as it was not unusual for Childermass to rise first and depart before the servants came knocking. Then memories of last night began to return to him. Not all of them filled him with gladness. _Has there ever been another marriage proposal where the other person’s first reaction was to eject the contents of their stomach?_ He put his hands over his face and groaned. _Not that I was wholly to blame there...really, John. Mrs Pleasance indeed!_ His groan changed to a small chuckle, and he began to feel better. 

_So. John and I are engaged. Now where the blazes has he gone? I did think he might have stayed a bit, today of all days..._ Segundus raised himself up on his elbows and peered about the room. The muffling spell was still functioning and the door was still bolted. _He probably slipped out on the King's Roads,_ he thought, glancing at the mirror on the dressing table. 

He sat up with another groan (his muscles, had he had predicted, were exceedingly stiff thanks to all the dancing and...other things), ready to remove the spell and unlock the door in preparation for Charles's arrival with the shaving water, when he heard the crinkle of paper from somewhere in the disheveled bedclothes.

A moment's hunting produced a piece of paper tucked under his pillow. He unfolded it, saw Childermass's handwriting, and read: _I am sorry to leave you without saying goodbye -_ his heart sank _\- but I have a Quest to undertake, and the sooner I complete it the sooner I will return. What I do is closely linked to our conversation of last night. I will write again when I have more to tell. Yours, John Childermass._ His heart rose again at this valediction ( _Yes, he is mine_ ) and he found himself able to begin his daily routine with his usual good cheer.

Life at Starecross was back to normal, barring the absence of a teacher and a student, which had been long foreseen and planned for. Childermass's abrupt disappearance was slightly more challenging to overcome, as he had not left any instructions behind. After breakfast Segundus went to his study and looked over the schedule for the rest of the month. He sighed. _Well, at least he didn't have any lectures planned until next week. Hopefully he will be back by then...if not, well, I will just have to give the lectures for him._

His spirits were flagging by the end of the day. _This situation feels all too familiar,_ he thought, watching Merlin hop to and fro on his desk, trying to snap a fly out of the air with his great beak. _John riding off the day after a momentous declaration, leaving me behind...it seems to be our **modus operandi**...although last time it was Vinculus's fault. [1]_ This led him to wonder how the absurd old yellow-curtain street magician had fared since his release from Childermass's custody a year and a half before. He smiled at the memory of Vinculus bidding extravagantly worded goodbyes to every one in the school before ambling off with a comic song on his lips, a bottle of claret in each hand, and a pork pie in every pocket. 

"Enough wool-gathering," he told himself sternly. Merlin screeched and flapped over to the windowsill. Segundus opened the window so that the raven could fly out into the garden, closed it again against the chill of the autumn air, and bent to his work.

*

By the time dinner was over, Segundus's curiosity about what Childermass was up to was too strong to be denied any longer. He made his excuses and retired to his room. There he took a silver basin out of the wardrobe (his habit of storing magical objects and tools along with his clothing drove Charles nearly to distraction) and filled it with water from the ewer on his nightstand. Closing his eyes, he held his hand over the basin, whispering the words of the spell for visions as he filled his mind with the face of John Childermass. 

When he looked down into the circle of water, there was that dear, dark, infuriating man, sitting in a dimly-lit room of a tavernesque nature. He was alone at a table illuminated by a single candle stuck into an empty wine bottle. There was a group of rowdy men doing something at the edge of the vision - shouting? No, singing, no doubt drunkenly - but Childermass paid them no attention. His focus was on something on the table in front of him. _Of course. The cards. Always the cards._ Segundus moved his fingers over the basin to better bring Childermass's face into view. 

It was at this point that Childermass - whose sensitivity to magic was even greater than Segundus's own - raised his head, looking directly at the spot where Segundus would have been standing had he been observing him in the flesh. Segundus flinched back, startled, but did not break the connexion. "It's me, John," he murmured, leaning close to the water again. "What are you doing? Why did you leave?"

Childermass's stern, sardonic face was briefly made less forbidding by a quick smile of unusual softness. He drew an envelope from his breast pocket and held it so that was easy for Segundus to read the name of the person to whom it was addressed - himself. _Trust me,_ mouthed Childermass. Then he replaced the letter in his pocket, gave an almost imperceptible wink, and turned his attention back to the cards.

Segundus accepted this as the cordial dismissal that it was and ended the spell. His curiosity was unquenched, but he felt much relieved all the same. Childermass was not hiding from him - he was not in another's company - and he had already written a letter to explain his actions. _All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well_ he thought, quoting Julian of Norwich at himself. He undressed and wriggled between the covers, feeling better than he had all day.

He had planned to read a little before going to sleep, as he often did, but he found it difficult to keep his mind on his book now that he could dwell on his affianced status with pleasure instead of anxiety. _When he gets home, we really should have some kind of ceremony. The vows from the prayer book won't do at all...we don't have to take procreation into account, nor the permission of our parents...but it would be good to have some words to repeat to each other...promises..._

He fell asleep pondering this conundrum.

*

"It is pleasant to return to business as usual, is it not?" said Honeyfoot at breakfast the next day, beaming around the table over his bowl of porridge. "Doubtless I would feel more melancholy about our youngest being wed if I did not know she would be here with us again in a fortnight's time."

"I am just glad we have time to rearrange the furniture before they return," said Mrs Honeyfoot. "It will be much more convenient to have her and Mr Levy sharing a room - it frees up Jane's old chamber for the new students. I feel so sorry for them, stacked up like salted cod!"

"Oh, come, my dear, hardly that - one extra bed in one of the rooms is not a trial by fire. Well! What did you think of the wedding, Mr Segundus? I have hardly seen you since then, it seems!"

Segundus, who was seated between the Honeyfoots, opened his mouth to reply, but did not get the chance as Honeyfoot was already answering his own question:

"I thought it went beautifully! The weather was good, the church was nicely filled, and Reverend Mallowe read the service with real feeling. It could not have gone better!"

"I have always wondered," put in Mrs Honeyfoot, "why the marriage service does not quote from the Canticles instead of fussy old St Paul. What does he know about married life? The man was plainly a bachelor or he would never have said such things."

"What things?" said Segundus, who did not consider himself on close enough terms with St Paul to argue with him. 

"Oh, all that claptrap about it being better to remain unwed! I forget exactly what. All I know is that it sets my teeth on edge when I hear it read."

"Really, Mrs Honeyfoot - " said Honeyfoot, looking alarmed.

"Don't 'really' me, sir!" said his wife, wagging a finger at him. "Would you be better off without me?"

Honeyfoot's kind, red face smiled warmly into the kind, red face of his spouse. "Certainly not, my dear."

"What did you mean by 'the Canticles,' Mrs Honeyfoot?" said Segundus, passing a platter of sausages to Hadley-Bright.

"Oh, the Song of Solomon, you know!" replied Mrs Honeyfoot. "I still remember the first time I came across it while looking at my father's old Bible - you could have knocked me down with a feather! What they were thinking of when they included it in the Holy Writ is beyond me."

Segundus noticed that young Palmer's head was angled slightly towards them, as though he was trying to listen unobtrusively. "Perhaps this is not the time nor the place in which to discuss it."

"Indeed!" laughed Hadley-Bright, handing the sausages on down the table. "I have heard that Jewish men were forbidden to read it until they were thirty years old - or married. Whichever came first."

"That leaves us out in the cold, eh?" said Matthews, the second-youngest pupil, elbowing Palmer in the ribs. 

"I thought the wedding breakfast was a great success," said Honeyfoot, clearly ready to tackle less scandalous subjects. "I was not sure about Levy's scheme to balance out the number of partners at first, but it went off marvelously! Great fun! Though I did not last for more than two dances myself," he added with a grimace. "Even with all that practice, my legs are punishing me for trying to act younger than my age."

"You did very well, my dear," said Mrs Honeyfoot, who had danced all the dances. "As did you, Mr Segundus! You and Mr Childermass did not miss a step!"

This time Segundus was saved the trouble of replying by the clock, which stuck half-past eight. This set off a great wiping of mouths and pushing back of chairs as the teachers and pupils hurried off to the first lessons of the day.

"I will see you later, sir," said Honeyfoot, as he helped Mrs Honeyfoot out of her seat. 

"Yes - I shall be in my study if anyone needs me," said Segundus, joining the exodus. 

He generally used the hours between breakfast and eleven o'clock tea to answer correspondence and take care of any administrative duties that needed his attention. Today he had other things on his mind. Mrs Honeyfoot's references to the Canticles had combined with his earlier musings on the subject of alternate wedding vows and had given him the beginnings of an idea. So, nearly as nervous as the last time he had turned to literature for help in the art of love, he went to the Religion section of the library, removed a big black Bible and a (comparatively) small brown Book of Common Prayer, and brought them to his study. 

Feeling like a naughty schoolboy, he turned the thin, crackling pages of the Good Book until he reached the Song of Songs, which is Solomon’s.

The book was not a long one. He read it straight through, widening his eyes at the robustly stated desires ( _bold enough to do John Donne credit!_ ) and smiling at the cataract of imagery. He could understand Mrs Honeyfoot’s surprize at finding such an unapologetic blend of beauty and bawdiness in the Bible. 

_It is rather...much,_ he thought, trying to picture himself reciting certain passages to Childermass, comparing his teeth to freshly-washed sheep, and his neck to a tower of David built for an armory. _And yet…'His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.'_

He drew out his memorandum book and began to take notes.

*

Childermass’s letter arrived with the next morning’s post. Segundus was in the library, checking up on one or two facts for his class on the Nature of Fairies, when Honeyfoot delivered it to him.

“Here’s your letters, sir,” said Honeyfoot, handing him a small pile of correspondence. “It looks like our Mr Childermass has written! Perchance he says when he will return - soon, I trust! I have had some ideas about the organization of the Book’s contents that I think he will be most interested to hear.”

“I am sure he will,” said Segundus, grateful that Honeyfoot could not see the leap his heart gave at the sight of Childermass’s familiar scrawl. “I will inform you if he says any thing of importance.”

Honeyfoot nodded and withdrew. Segundus sat down by the fireplace and opened Childermass’s letter with hands that hardly trembled at all. He read it through quickly, eager to learn what had drawn Childermass away, and then read it again to make sure that he understood it aright. 

_My dear John_ , wrote Childermass. _Once again, I beg you to forgive me for leaving you so suddenly, and after such a night. Believe me, it was not any desire to be far from you that made me go, but rather my earnest desire to marry you as quickly and as thoroughly as possible._

_Do you remember how you joked about asking Reverend Mallowe to marry us, knowing full well that it is an impossibility? This made me wonder if there was any person on earth upon whom we might call to officiate, which in turn led me to think of someone whom we both know - someone who is aware of our secret - who is something of an expert when it comes to getting married. I am speaking, of course, of Vinculus._

_It was a passing thought, but when I asked my cards where he was they revealed that he was not far away - in Flockton Green, of all places. Knowing how easily he can disappear when he wants to remain in hiding, I was determined to seize this chance to find him and ask for his help. I am close on his trail and I hope that I shall have found him by the time you get this letter. I will write again when I have more to tell._

_Yours, John Childermass_

“Vinculus!” exclaimed Segundus, looking up to consult with Merlin before remembering that he was not in his study, and that the raven was therefore nowhere to be seen. The habit of speaking aloud to his avian companion was so deeply ingrained that (after making sure that he was the only person in the library) he continued talking. "That old charlatan! He remains intertwined in my affairs, no matter how well I think I have extricated myself from him." He read the letter one more time before committing it to the fire. _Still,_ he thought, watching the paper blacken and curl, _it pleases me to think of seeing him again. He is not a bad fellow. Though I have no idea how he will react to being asked to play the priest for us._

*

The nights grew colder. The leaves began to turn from green to gold. Finally, ten days after Jane and Levy's wedding, another letter came from Childermass. Segundus opened it at once and read: _The Ringing Wood, Thursday, three o'clock p.m._ There was nothing else - not even a signature.

 _And it is nine o' clock on Thursday morning right now,_ thought Segundus. _The Ringing Wood...that's about two miles this side of York. I can get there easily enough on horseback._

He went off to make arrangements to have his afternoon tutoring sessions postponed, and told Honeyfoot that he had unexpected business near York. "I will not be back until evening. Do not wait for me at dinner - Mrs Pleasance can hold a plate for me." 

"I can come along, if you like," offered Honeyfoot. 

"No, thank you, my friend, I shall be fine on my own," said Segundus. "I will take Tuppence." Tuppence was a sturdy gelding, named for the white coin-sized spot on his forehead rather than for his worth. He was not a fast animal, but he was reliable and gentle, and was Segundus's preferred mount.

"What is this business that calls you?"

"Mr Childermass has found Vinculus," said Segundus, who tried to tell the truth as much as possible. "I am to meet them in the Ringing Wood." 

"Ah, of course, to check on the words!" said Honeyfoot. (One condition of Vinculus's release had been that he would allow Childermass to contact him now and then to see if the text he bore had been altered.). "I wonder whether they will have changed at all? How remarkable that would be! Well, sir, I wish you Godspeed. Do be careful - I do not want to lose you or Mr Childermass to Faerie!" This was an allusion to the Ringing Wood's reputation for having a stronger-than-average connexion to Other Lands. 

"You can rely on us," said Segundus.

*

The weather was fine when he started out, but the blue sky was soon overrun with grey clouds. It smelled like rain. Segundus turned up the collar of his coat and wondered if he stood the slightest chance of making it there and back again without becoming soaked to the bone. 

He had gone about three miles, passing no one but the occasional sheep, when a harsh caw and a tumult of black wings beating about his head nearly sent him falling from his saddle in surprize. Tuppence shied and snorted, leaving Segundus with the task of calming his horse while simultaneously scolding his raven. 

"Merlin! What are you doing here? There is no reason to follow me, I'll be - hush, there, easy now, Tuppence! It is only that blasted bird of mine. He'll not harm you." The horse snorted again but seemed to accept that the large black flapping thing that had come to rest on Segundus's shoulder was not a threat. "Fine, you can come along," said Segundus, addressing the raven, who gave a condescending cackle. "But I beg you not to mess on my coat. I am on my way to my wedding."

***

1For more information about the occasion to which Segundus is referring, see [The Perils of Poetry.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5413778)[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to go read AlexSimon's [The Joys and Trials of Settling Down](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8691715), which gives us a peek at what Childermass was up to!


	4. By Bird and Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woods, wedding, waltz. Wheee!

Seen from without, the Ringing Wood was not a wood so much as it was a copse, sitting dark and squat on the moor. Its only remarkable feature was a pair of standing stones, patchily covered in moss, that stood on either side of the path where it disappeared into the trees. 

Any person who followed the narrow track between the stones and into the wood would find themselves surrounded by a great many more trees than they had expected. They would also find that these trees were taller and older than they had first appeared, and that the rustling of their leaves sounded far too much like the ringing of high-pitched bells to be quite comfortable. It was the general consensus that no one but a madman or a magician (character traits that often coincided) would willingly enter the Ringing Wood.

Such were the things John Childermass pondered as he smoked his pipe and leaned against the drier of the standing stones. Vinculus and Brewer were taking their ease in a clearing about a hundred yards into the wood. After days of unrelenting teasing and performances of folk songs about disastrous wedding nights, Childermass had opted to stand watch for Segundus on his own. 

He exhaled a cloud of smoke and gazed out into the fog. He was not worried, not really - Segundus's sense of direction was remarkable - but there was much that could go wrong in weather like this, and he was eager to be reassured that his fears were groundless.

Finally he heard the sound he had been waiting to hear - heavy hoofbeats thudding regularly up the track. There was also a voice. Childermass strained to make out the words.

"...amat, amamus, amatis, amant..." 

Childermass grinned, knocking the ash out of his pipe against his boot. _That's my John - passing the time by reciting Latin conjugations._ "Hello, there!" he called out. The recitation ceased.

"Is that you, John?" came Segundus's voice. "Thank goodness! I thought we'd never get here!"

"You are early, actually." Childermass advanced along the path to meet him, and a moment later saw an odd triumvirate emerge from the grey - a raven, sitting on a man, who was sitting on a horse. The horse pulled up sharply and whickered when it saw Childermass, who reached up and took it by the bridle. "All right then, Tuppence, old boy - well done." 

"He's a sure-footed fellow, thank goodness," said Segundus, and sneezed. Merlin exclaimed "Amo!" And took to the air. 

Childermass laughed. "You cannot rest from teaching, can you? Not even when your only student is a bird."

"I only wish all my students remembered my words so readily," said Segundus, dismounting. "Well, John, here I am. I apologize for my appearance, but the weather was - well, you can see for yourself."

Childermass looked at Segundus's chill-reddened nose, at his old cocked hat with condensed fog dripping from the corners, and at his coat with a splash of raven droppings on the shoulder. He said, with perfect sincerity: "You are beautiful, sir."

Segundus wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Flattery! Gross and outrageous lies. But I will allow it. I take it your quest was successful?"

"It was."

They were passing between the standing stones, Segundus leading Tuppence. Childermass felt a wave of dizziness as they stepped into the wood. He could tell by the way Segundus tilted his head that he could feel something as well.

"Very - er - _Fae_ in here, isn't it?" said Segundus, looking around with interest.

"Aye. But it's quiet today. And the weather is an improvement on this side." 

"That is true - much less damp. Mist, not fog. How far are we going?"

"Not far. There's a clearing just up ahead."

Their booted feet and Tuppence's hooves crunched and swished through the thick layer of fallen leaves, sending up a sweet, fungoid smell of decay. _The scent of magic,_ thought Childermass.

"So you found Vinculus," said Segundus. "Did he take much persuading?"

"Quite the opposite. He was panting for the chance to get back to Starecross for a while - domestic life has been wearing on him lately and he was glad of an escape."

"He is returning with us?"

"That's his price."

"I wish I'd known - I could have warned Mrs Pleasance. Ah well. She will adjust. It's the least we can do for him, I suppose."

They entered the clearing, which was carpeted with rust-colored ferns and surrounded by kingly pines whose tops were so high that they disappeared into the mist. Vinculus, sitting among what looked like the remains of a fairly extensive picnic, gave them a lazy wave. 

"Ho there, magicians! I see you found your way all right, Mr Headmaster. Childermass has been fretting over you ever since the fog came down."

There being no dignified response to this (undeniably true) statement except to ignore it, Childermass ignored it. "Shall I tie Tuppence up over by Brewer, John?"

"What? Oh, yes of course - thank you!" said Segundus. Childermass took the gelding by the reins and led him to the opposite side of the clearing, where he looped the reins securely around a tree branch. Brewer snorted an equine greeting and Tuppence shook his head so that his bridle jangled.

Leaving the horses to their conversation, Childermass turned to see Segundus lowering himself into a sitting position beside Vinculus. "How have you been keeping yourself, sir?" Segundus said. 

"Well enough," said Vinculus. 

"Thank you for agreeing to assist us. You must think us quite ridiculous."

Vinculus grinned. "I do, at that - but that's no reason not to come along and help you out. Lord knows it's no hardship for me...especially with the thought of Mrs Pleasance's cooking to sustain me, hey? Your darling betrothed did right to think of me - I'm a dab hand at weddings, having been to so many of my own!" Vinculus picked his teeth with his thumbnail and went on: "I can say the ceremony from memory, you know - though your fiancé doesn't trust me with it. He insisted on picking up a prayer book on our way here."

"I trust you with plenty of things," said Childermass, sitting down on Vinculus's other side. "Including our lives - but not the words of our wedding vows, especially when you've already finished two bottles of wine today."

"Just to ward off the chill!" protested Vinculus.

"Actually," began Segundus, and then stopt. 

"What?" said Childermass. "Go on, then."

Segundus placed his palms together and looked up at the trees, where Merlin was hopping from branch to branch. "I have given a lot of thought to the wording of our vows, John, and it seems clear the ones in the prayer book will not do for us - and I am not speaking only of the issue of pronouns. So I - I have re-written them." He drew a much-folded piece of paper from his breast pocket.

"Trust you to think of every thing, sir!" said Childermass, laughing.

"Come on, let's have it," said Vinculus, extending a grimy hand. Segundus hesitated and then gave him the paper. Vinculus rotated on his haunches so that he had his back turned to the two magicians, unfolded the paper, and hunched over it. Childermass and Segundus looked at each other, shrugged, and waited for him to finish. 

After some minutes (throughout which Vinculus muttered to himself, nodded, shook his head, and muttered some more) he peered over his shoulder at them and said: "Right. Nice work, Mr Segundus. It'll do." Then he got up, briskly brushing the dead leaves and twigs from his trousers. "Let us commence!"

Childermass and Segundus got up rather more slowly, suddenly shy of meeting each other's gaze now that the thing was really happening. Childermass attempted to diffuse the tension. "Do I look all right, John? At my best, ready for the altar?"

Segundus's eyes crinkled at the corners. "In truth, you look like a disheveled spaniel."

"Like a _what?!_ "

"It's the way your hair has partially escaped its ribbon - and your large dark eyes, of course. I am fond of spaniels, but I can tidy you up a bit, if you like."

"Only if you let me clean your coat afterwards," said Childermass, indicating the splash of white where Merlin had left his mark. 

Segundus craned his neck in an effort to see his own shoulder. "Blast the bird, I'd hoped that - all right, it's a bargain."

Childermass let Segundus untie his hair and finger-comb it into some semblance of order. "Tell me about the vows you wrote," he said, to distract himself from the way Segundus's hands in his hair set his skin tingling. "It doesn't look as though Vinculus is going to let you have them back, and I'd like to have some idea of what to expect."

"Certainly. They are not much different from the original - although they are quite a bit shorter," said Segundus, holding Childermass's hair together at the nape of his neck with one hand and deftly wrapping the ribbon around it with the other. "I left out the bit about the ring. I thought a physical symbol would not be the best idea."

Childermass grunted, his mind instantly filling with ways to work around that obstacle. _A hidden tattoo? Rings invisible to all but ourselves?_ Out loud he said: "Good thinking." 

"And do not worry about knowing the words. Vinculus will tell us what to say at the right time - at least, he will if he follows the form I wrote out. Oh, and I put in one or two texts from the Song of Solomon."

"Really?" said Childermass, trying to turn to look at him and getting a cuff on the shoulder for his trouble.

"Hold still, I am trying to tie this off!"

"I beg your pardon, I thought you were finished. But - the Song of Solomon? I can't say I'm all that familiar with it. What was it brought it to your attention?"

"Mrs Honeyfoot, believe it or not. I will read it to you when we return home. I think you will find it entertaining and edifying...there. You may move now."

Childermass struck a pose. "Better?" 

"Much. Any thing that makes your face easier to see is an improvement."

"Now who is the flatterer? Your turn, then."

Segundus stood patiently while Childermass scrubbed at his shoulder with a damp handkerchief. While they were thus occupied Vinculus wandered around the perimeter of the clearing, examining the trees as though searching for something. He must have found what he was looking for, for when Childermass finally succeeded in removing the worst of Merlin's workmanship, he was waiting for them in front of an especially imposing pine.

"Have you two quite finished preening?" he said.

"Quite," said Childermass, and they went to stand before Vinculus. He smirked, cleared his throat, and said:

"Right, then, gents, off we go. We are gathered here today in the sight of God, two horses, the earth, the sky, the trees, and his Grace, the King, John Uskglass - if he cares to look - to join together these two men in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate, and is not by any to be taken in hand unadvisedly or wantonly, but reverently, discreetly, soberly, and in the fear of God. John Segundus - who gives you to be married to this man?"

"I give myself," said Segundus, his voice higher than normal with nerves.

"And you, John Childermass - who gives you to be married to this man?"

"I give myself," echoed Childermass, whose voice had gone the opposite direction of Segundus's and came out low and rasping.

"John Segundus and John Childermass - will you have each other as husband? Will you love, serve, and honor each other, and forsaking all others" (Childermass could have sworn that Vinculus winked at him here) "keep only unto one another, so long as you both shall exist in this life and whatever comes after it?"

"I will," they said, together.

"Then say after me: _I, John Segundus, take you, John Childermass -_ " 

"I, John Segundus, take you, John Childermass - "

" _\- and I, John Childermass, take you, John Segundus -_ "

"And I, John Childermass, take you, John Segundus - " 

"Together, now, lads: _\- to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health. Not even death shall part us; thereto I give thee my troth. With these words I thee wed; with my body I thee worship._ " 

He waited for them to finish repeating his words, their voices overlapping in a ragged chorus. Then he took their hands - Segundus's left and Childermass's right - and joined them together. "John Segundus, John Childermass - this is your beloved and this is your friend. Set him as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm: for love is as strong as death. Many waters cannot quench love, nor can the floods drown it. And now, by the authority given to me by my status as the most married man in England - " 

Merlin chose this moment to come swooping down and land, not upon Segundus's shoulder, but upon Vinculus's. To his credit, Vinculus did not jump or swear or shew any evidence of shock at all. Instead he kept talking as though there had been no interruption.

" - and also by my status as the bearer of the King's Letters, I pronounce you wedded husbands - by Bird and Book. Those who have been thus bound together let no one put asunder." 

Childermass and Segundus looked at each other, and then back at Vinculus, who seemed to be waiting for something. "Er..." said Segundus, and Vinculus rolled his eyes.

"You're meant to kiss now, you daft prunes!" 

Being invited to kiss so in front of another person - even the person who had married them a minute before - paralyzed Childermass completely. _Stop gaping!_ he scolded himself. _John will think you don't **want** to kiss him! ___

But Segundus's eyes were twinkling. "Come, sir," he said. "As it is written - 'Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth; for thy love is better than wine.' "

"Now that's a matter of opinion," said Vinculus, as Merlin flew away with an ear-splitting _Caw!_ "I myself should say - 

Childermass was not interested in hearing Vinculus's opinion. Neither, it seemed, was Segundus, who reached up with his free hand, cupped it against Childermass's cheek, and kissed him. 

"Tell me some more of Solomon's song," said Childermass, after some time. "I like his style."

" 'Behold, thou are fair, my beloved,' " Segundus murmured, attempting to kiss and quote at the same time. " 'As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste. He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love - ' " 

_It's like being fed honey,_ Childermass thought drunkenly, as Segundus's lips moved against his, spilling the ancient love-words directly into his mouth. _Like being fed honey by my husband. Husband. We are husbands..._ His heart was thundering so hard he could hear it in his head like hoofbeats. Then Segundus broke off halfway through a verse that, hilariously, seemed to be likening Childermass's legs to pillars of marble set in sockets of gold, and said: 

"Do you hear that?"

" 'S just my heart," mumbled Childermass. Segundus laughed but then drew back, frowning.

__"No - it is too loud for that, it sounds like - I say! That's my horse, you scoundrel!"_ _

__Childermass shook off his feeling of intoxication just in time to see Tuppence sedately walking across the clearing, Vinculus sitting astride him._ _

__"So it is!" called Vinculus, saluting cheerily. "A fine animal, sir! I don't want to intrude on your happiness, so I'll be getting along to Starecross, shall I?" As he disappeared down the path that led back to the standing stones, his voice floated back to them through the trees: "Congratulations, gents!"_ _

__Segundus stared after their erstwhile parson with his mouth agape, apparently unable to believe that any one could be so brazen. Childermass, who had no trouble believing it whatsoever, considered shouting promises of vengeance after him, but decided against it - in truth, he was fighting the urge to laugh. It was such a perfectly _Vinculus_ thing for the man to do. _ _

__"I suppose there's no harm done," he said. "We're going to the same place, and Brewer can overtake Tuppence any day. And you and I now have an excuse to ride home on the same horse."_ _

__"That's true," said Segundus, brightening. "Well, while I appreciate Vinculus's attempt to give us some privacy - even if it was nine-tenths inspired by his desire to be somewhere warm and dry - we don't have any reason to linger here. Shall we go?"_ _

__"Aye. I've got one or two things I'd like to do - to you - but I would rather do it in bed than on a picturesque but scratchy pile of ferns."_ _

__"I agree completely. One of the benefits of middle age is being able to admit how much one prefers being comfortable," said Segundus. "Speaking of being comfortable - I do not think I can get up onto Brewer without something to stand on - and no, do not offer to give me a boost. I mean something like a stump or a rock."_ _

__"There are some good-sized boulders at the entrance, on the other side of the standing stones."_ _

__With Childermass leading Brewer, they walked out of the clearing and down the path that Vinculus and Tuppence had so recently traveled. It was already possible to see the gap between the standing stones, and the rain pouring steadily down beyond._ _

__"Well, at least the fog has gone," said Segundus, with a valiant attempt at optimism._ _

__"Are you sure you don't want to stay in here until it stops?"_ _

__Segundus considered it. "No, I think not. I would rather make it home sopping wet than tempt fate by hanging about in an enchanted wood. Not," he added, "that we've seen any thing particularly enchanted in here."_ _

__"Now you're the one tempting fate."_ _

__"I think that the two of us will be able to fight our way through the remaining thirty feet of totally empty forest path."_ _

__Childermass held up a hand. "Hush - do you hear that?"_ _

__"You're trying to alarm me."_ _

__"I'm not doing any such thing - listen!"_ _

__Segundus complied, though he still looked suspicious. "All I hear are the...crickets..." His voice trailed off._ _

__"You _do_ hear it! I told you!"_ _

__"I'm not sure what I'm hearing - it's still crickets, but it's almost as if they're playing an actual tune!" Segundus looked quite ready to turn back and investigate, but Childermass caught him by the arm._ _

__"Oh no you don't. I want to spend the rest of our wedding day riding home, being fussed over and fed by Mrs Pleasance, and maybe having a warm bath. Then we shall take ourselves bed for some extremely _thorough_ \- "_ _

__" - Bible study?" said Segundus cheekily._ _

__"Precisely. I do not want to spend it tracking down musical fairy crickets and getting lost in Other Lands."_ _

__"All right, my dear. I am entirely of your mind."_ _

__The crickets' tune grew louder and more defined as they walked toward the standing stones, quickening their pace. Childermass more than half expected to come across someone or something attempting to prevent them from leaving the wood, but to his relief, they passed through the gateway without trouble._ _

__Segundus stopt and looked back into the wood, which again seemed small and squat. "I can still hear them. We are _out_ , aren't we? I mean, out of Faerie? I cannot feel the magic around me like I did in there, but - "_ _

__"We are in plain England," Childermass assured him. "As plain as England can be, at any rate."_ _

__They stood and listened to the music. "Is it my imagination," said Segundus after a while, "or are they playing a waltz?"_ _

__"I was thinking the same thing. It almost sounds like it."_ _

__"Perhaps it is a sign."_ _

__"Of what?"_ _

__"Of the Raven King's acknowledgement of our marriage." Segundus spoke lightly, but there was an edge of seriousness to his words. Childermass laughed._ _

__"If that's the case, it would be churlish not to respond in turn." He let go of Brewer's reins, knowing that the horse could be trusted not to wander off, and bowed. "May I have this dance, sir?"_ _

__"What if someone sees us?" said Segundus, protesting even as he stept toward Childermass._ _

__"Somehow, I do not think that is very likely," said Childermass, looking around at the desolate rain-shrouded heath. "But if they do, we can always claim to have been enchanted."_ _

__"Which is true," said Segundus. He put his hands on Childermass's shoulders. "Completely, utterly enchanted. Now, my beloved, my friend - let us dance."_ _

__"With a good will, husband," said Childermass, and so - fumbling the steps, slipping in the mud, drenched, and laughing - the magicians waltzed._ _

__*_ _

__FIN_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys' vows were (obviously) cobbled together from the ones on the Book of Common Prayer and from the Song of Solomon, which is definitely worth a read if you ever feel like being entertained, perplexed, and vaguely turned on at the same time.
> 
> I cannot take credit for the image of Childermass-the-spaniel; someone on tumblr pointed out the resemblance a few months ago and I haven't been to unsee it since! I can't remember who it was, alas - but if the person responsible is reading this, you know who you are, and I am in your debt.
> 
> Neither can I take credit for the line about the "sweet, fungoid smell of decay" - it's something my dad says every time he walks through autumn leaves, but I recently discovered that it's an approximate quotation from one of P. D. James' books. ("Shroud for a Nightingale," I believe.) So there you go.
> 
> Thanks again to AlexSimon for working with me on this, and for giving me ideas about Vinculus's motivation!


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